Bad day. I get up and the pollen hits me like a dump truck; I'm lightheaded and dizzy and I feel like my head is encased in a great big bale of cotton wool. Get the youngest off to school, come back home and inform oldest I'm going to bed. Two hours (TWO HOURS!) later I awake. OHMIGOD it's late.
The house is a wreck but that'll have to wait; it's been a week since I've seen the inside of my office. But the brain won't work. It. Will. Not. Work. I tear up the chapter I've been working on and discover I have no earthly idea of what I'm saying, how to say it, or what I need to find out in order to have a prayer of having anything worth saying in the future. If you are in the writing trade you know this; if not, take my word: this is hell. In the midst of which a migraine starts.
Before I know it, it's time to pick up the youngest, which I do, and we do some shopping and all the time we are in the car she is telling me how lonely she is at school and how hard she is finding it to make friends. If you are a mom, you know this; if not, take my word: this is hell. Do I intervene? What would intervention be, anyway? What can I do to make her happy/happier? Is that my job, even? What would a good parent do?.....and so on. In everything I think, for the rest of the day, there's this undercurrent of worry. I just don't know what to do. I ache to see her so unhappy. And every time my thoughts wander off to something else, this problem pulls me back to it. I am like a terrier with a bone he can't let go of.
We get home to a house which is, oddly, still a wreck, and the oldest drags in, and I put a frozen pizza in the over (because the hubster is gone this week, and it's 95 degrees out for some ungodly reason, in APRIL, and I am not cooking in this heat) and this frozen pizza tastes like the sole of a cheap dollar-store flipflop. I paid $7 for gluten-free, rubberized cardboard. Lovely. I go looking for the youngest to call her to dinner, such as it is, and find her totally conked out on the sofa. She started a new medication today and it's making her so, so sleepy. I let her be, because it's time now to take the oldest to softball practice--except that one schedule says practice is at Park A and my computer schedule says Park B, and we end up using up about $7 of gas and never finding the *%&(#! practice. Come home to a house which is STILL a wreck.
At which point I say TO HELL WITH IT and sit down to watch TV with my girls, and then I send them to bed, and now the day is over. Good riddance.
